Wasted Potential
by NotSus
Summary: Everyone had always said Hermione was meant for something much greater. HrSS
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I tried not to make it too AU. It's believable. Yeah.

* * *

She had potential. Potential as potent as the potions she masterfully concocted just last year – but she didn't harness that potential. Instead, she bound herself into a simple weave of comfort and familiarity, wrapping herself in safety. The only difficulties she had to face now were the criticisms from her parents and friends. Yes; she has heard it enough times by now, she knows she really _could _have done so much better!

She hid from the cruelties of the world, behind the objects which had hidden her so well over the past 18 years. Behind the tall tomes Hermione felt safe – safer than she ever had during her escapades with Harry and Ron. How could they live with a constant fear for their lives? What would be wrong with living a life of comfort and safety, even if it meant declining a prestigious invitation to the Auror training program?

In the library, Hermione was hidden from the outside world. Concealed in a tight cocoon of warmth and books;glorious, glorious _books. _Much like Harry, she had never felt at home anywhere except in Hogwarts; even living with her parents no longer felt right. So when Madam Pince retired and the head librarian job opened up, it was hardly a choice worth debating.

It was a lonely job. Her friends were the biographies of famous witches and wizards; her family, the seven volumes of _Hogwarts: A History. _Occasionally she would chat with Ginny, who was now a seventh year, when she stopped in the library, but those visits were growing scarce. The library was seeing less and less visitors as midterms had passed, and sometimes Hermione would spend half her day staring at the particles of dust that glimmered in the sparse lighting.

The most active part of her day was spent shelving books. She thought it would be natural to despise such a mundane task, but strangely, it was the part of her job she enjoyed the greatest. The rest of her day was spent at her desk, either reading or checking books in and out and waiting for the off-chance that a student might ask for help finding a book.

On one particularly uneventful day, Hermione decided to crack open a volume on complex potions. The pages were delicate and torn, and the colorful stains that decorated each page emanated a familiar smell – a smell that reminded Hermione of times with Harry, Ron, Neville, Snape…mixing the polyjuice potion in her second year, carefully stirring together ingredients during her N.E.W.T. Potions exam….

"I do believe there has been a misplacement."

Hermione's neck snapped up from the old book at the sudden sound of the deep, silky voice and her eyes met those of Severus Snape.

"..S-Sir?" she stammered, startled.

"The Restricted Section, Row G." He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow in impatience. "I doubt there is anyone who has checked out this particular text. You must have shelved it in the wrong area."

She sat there for a second, just gaping at the man. Not only did he startle the living daylights out of her, he had transcended his boundaries of condescendence by implying that she, head librarian, had done something as juvenile as misplace a book. It was no matter, however; Hermione was actually quite glad to have something to actually help someone with, barring all insults.

"Let's go look, shall we?" Hermione said quietly, leaving her book of nostalgia behind as she walked swiftly towards the Restricted Section. As she came upon Row G, a realization dawned upon her.

"Oh, Professor," she said, chuckling and turning to him. "I'm so very sorry. I just realized that I actually took this book out for myself today…"

"You took out Gilbert Strong's _Potion-Making for the Decidedly Dedicated_?" Snape interrupted, slightly narrowing his eyes.

"Just to look….I'm obviously not talented enough or have any reason at all to actually _create _these potions," she spat, a little too bitterly. She could feel his pupils piercing into her as they locked eyes, but she wasn't going to back down.

"Why did you do it, Hermione?"

It was startling to hear her first name escape her previous professor's lips; but as she should have realized, he was right to address her as an adult now instead of a student. But none of this reasoning clarified such an odd question.

"Do what, exactly, Professor?"

"You know what. I'm sure you've heard this question enough times." His intense gaze relaxed, and Hermione suddenly understood what he was referring to. The same question she always got – why she didn't become something _greater. _

"I don't think that concerns you. But if you must know, I'm very happy with my job as head librarian. The book is on my desk, you are welcome to pick it up on your way out." She began to walk quickly in the opposite direction before Snape spoke.

"Hermione, I don't believe you are."

Hermione stopped abruptly in her tracks and turned slowly to face Snape. He stood there, less menacingly than normal, with his arms folded. Hermione was trying to come up with a nice way to tell him to bugger off when he began to speak once more.

"I'm actually in need of an assistant." His facial expression was very calm. "Else I wouldn't have bothered to delve into your personal matters, which I could care less about."

As she stood there, halfway turned at Snape and halfway turned to the side, dust particles lazily circling her body, Hermione's thoughts began to race.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Pretend we live in a fantasy world where Snape didn't kill Dumbledore.

* * *

He had offered her something more, something generous, but most of all, something _interesting. _Hermione hated to admit it to herself, but solitude had its boundaries. She would still be working in Hogwarts, under the protection of Professor Dumbledore, and she would still be able to keep her job as head librarian. Of course, she would have to hire someone to take her shifts while she was working with Professor Snape, but…

"I …think I would like that very much," Hermione said, not timidly. There was a brief smile that flitted across the Professor's face, but it was gone in an instant.

"Fine. Come to my office tonight at 8:00 so we can discuss details." He walked back towards Hermione's desk and picked up _Potion Making for the Decidedly Dedicated_. With a brief glance back at the girl, he exited the library. Hermione felt the corners of her mouth slowly rising into a smile. She couldn't wait for tonight.

Hermione opened the door and a sliver of light was cast into the room. She had to go through the large Potions classroom to get to Snape's office, but it was dark and completely silent; even the shades on the windows were closed. Hermione took one step forward and the door slammed loudly and abruptly behind her.

"Professor?!" She almost shrieked, startled at the noise. There was no answer, but for a second she heard some sort of soft noise behind her. The room was now completely pitch black, and Hermione shivered in the dungeon classroom's lack of warmth. Then, without warning, Snape's voice boomed from somewhere at the front of the classroom.

"If I wanted to cure Goat's disease, which would be more apt: Liquefied papaya seeds or orange pulp?"

The question caught Hermione off guard but she answered almost immediately. There was some kind of familiarity coming back, and she liked the feeling. "Orange pulp. More acidic."

There was a moment of silence, a hint of a noise, and then Snape's voice traveled once more through the air, now coming from Hermione's right.

"Parakeet feathers are only to be used in which kind of potion?"

"Antidotes," Hermione said quickly and curtly, now realizing what her professor was doing. She was prepared for anything he could possibly throw at her.

"The proper color of anti-veritaserum would be – "

"Purple," Hermione spat out.

"Bullfrog livers should only be used in – "

"Pairs."

"A sleeping potion should only be stirre – "

"Five times clockwise for every once counter-clockwise, with exception on the twentieth and forty-eight stir, which should be delayed before a six-second pause!" Hermione breathed heavily after spilling out word after word. The room grew completely silent except for the soft sound of her breathing.

"…Professor?" She spoke, looking worriedly around her.

There was no answer. The room began to grow even colder than before, and Hermione's breath became gray wisps that evaporated in an instant after exiting her mouth. She was starting to become nervous when she suddenly felt a warmth behind her; something soft was beginning to press against her. She could hear a soft breathing from above her head.

A gentle hand came from behind her and slowly pulled back a lock of hair from her face, softly caressing her cheek in the process. Hermione's eyes fluttered closed at the sudden delicate contact, but then opened again. Another hand laid itself on her waist, pulling her in closer to meet the man who stood behind her. Her back was pressed up against his front; her head, inches from his chest. She could feel the warmth from his body against her back, and she leaned slightly more into him, escaping the cold. Hermione could hear him swallow. One of his hands still resided on her waist, and the other had begun to rest on her shoulder. The close proximity was strangely comfortable, but for some reason, it was also strangely exciting.

"Now," Snape said quietly, "For the last question." One of his hands slid off her waist for a moment and Hermione could hear him rummaging through his pockets. He brought his hand out and grasped something small in his palm, hidden to even his eyes in the darkness, but he didn't want to take a chance.

"Close your eyes." His voice was thick and the words seemed to flow out of his mouth like molasses. There was the small sound of a cork being pulled, and he brought the object up to Hermione's face. "Tell me what potion you smell."

Hermione sat there for a minute, the smell just escaping her…it was so familiar, she had brewed this potion before, no doubt…

Hermione took her hand and brought it to touch Snape's, bringing the vial closer to her nose. Her small hand seemed dwarfed when she lay it upon the professor's. She felt a chill and leaned even further back into Snape, into the softness of his fabric, the back of her head now against his abdomen. Her hand grasped Snape's tighter and pulled the potion in closer. His hand was so strong and steady even with her hand resting on it, a stability only achieved from years and years of careful potion-making.

Snape was silent, but his hand tensed on her shoulder. It was still completely pitch black, but Hermione still didn't open her eyes. She could feel a warm hardness beginning to press tightly against her lower back. Snape's eyes shut and narrowed in the darkness. She took a deep breath, inhaling the fumes. It was all coming back…that complex potion, and how she had to wait so long for it to brew…something in Hermione's brain clicked and she realized what potion it was.

Her hand slid slowly, caressingly off Snape's and down to her side. The small pressure against her lower back increased and she could hear Snape swallow again.

"It's Polyjuice potion," Hermione's voice croaked, eyes still closed. "Polyjuice potion."

Snape said nothing but exhaled loudly through his nose. They stood like that for almost ten seconds before Snape unexpectedly took a quick step back and turned around. Hermione could hear him rummaging through his pockets for the cork to the vial. Back still turned to Hermione, he spoke.

"Very good, Hermione, very good." There was a short silence as he corked the vial. "I am…to say the least, impressed with your knowledge." She couldn't tell if he was facing her direction or not, and he couldn't see the small smile that appeared on her face when he said that.

"I'll be expecting you tomorrow, at eight again." Hermione could hear rapid footsteps echoing in the empty classroom, the noises moving away from her. She wished she could see him walk away from her, cloak billowing behind him, as a reminder of the days she used to spend in Potions class. A loud door slam told Hermione that she should leave.

Even in that cold classroom Hermione could swear she was sweating.

* * *

A/N: Too soon? 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry about the long time without an update...I just started a new job and it's been busy busy busy. This chapter is kinda short, too, but I'm sort of rethinking where I'm going to go with this story...

* * *

Pacing around his bedroom, Severus Snape cursed himself.

"I am vile, vile…" he shoved himself up against the wall and pounded his fist, hard, into the wooden siding, his head hung lowly. "What sort of sickly desires does my body keep telling me that I want?" His mind went to Hermione, and the pressure within his slacks was there again. "…that I need…" He groaned loudly and pushed himself away from the wall.

"So filthy…" he brought his hand up to his cheek and scratched his dry skin rougher than necessary. Tiny droplets of blood sprung from the crevices that his nails had created, but Severus did not feel them.

---

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair as she looked herself in the mirror, the dim and disheveled reflection of her staring back. _What was going on? _Her reflection looked as perplexed as she was. _That was certainly more interesting than a night at the library, _she thought grimly to herself.

She turned away from the mirror and began to undress. The pale moonlight coming from the open window illuminated her smooth skin, shining and visible for all to see, but Hermione didn't bother to close the drapes. Her mind was on something else.

_Why…why wasn't I disgusted?_

_--- _

Hermione was in front of him, and he was holding the potion in front of her nose.

She stepped back into him. "_I know what it is…" _she whispered. Her hand came up to stroke his, so softly, and he dropped the potion. It shattered on the floor but Hermione didn't notice – she turned around and looked up at him. Their eyes met, but only for a second. Hermione buried her head into his shirt; he could feel her hot breath even through the fabric.

Her hand crept down, slowly, painfully – down his chest, his stomach – and onto his aching groin. She stroked it softly, and then more firmly; he made a small noise and both of his hands grabbed Hermione and pulled her closer to him. She began to stroke harder, and harder…her swift little fingers unbuttoned his slacks and pulled down his zipper. She pulled it out; he had never remembered it being so hard - and took it in her hand. Hermione ran one finger down the tip and he shuddered. She began to move her hand up and down the shaft, and he pulled her closer and his breath began to hitch. It was her, her pressed up against him, her little hand touching him, his mind exploding… Faster, and faster, and he started to shake in his sheets, in his bed; his hand moved faster and faster as the other grasped the sheets, groaning so loudly, so loudly into his own pillow.

---

The library was dead that day. Hermione stocked shelves mechanically, her mind blank but at the same time elsewhere. She looked at the clock more often than necessary, and wondered what she was going to actually have to do for Snape. Hermione hoped it would be brewing potions – but "assistant" was a broad category. He could have her stocking potions on shelves for all she knew; a small variant to the already exciting job she leads already.

5 o'clock came and went, and Hermione was off for the rest of the night. She left Maryanne in charge, a quiet woman who had worked there in the days of Pince. It was off to the Great Hall for dinner, and then to the Dungeons.


End file.
